


Pretty Bird

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24906106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson and April have been best friends for their entire lives. The summer before they left for college, their relationship escalated - then they stopped talking. Now, they're both home for the summer, and things between them will never be the same again.
Relationships: Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Pretty Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall!! I know I have like a billion MCs that I'm behind on, but this ficlet was too tempting. It'll probably be around 3 parts - at least, that's what I'm shooting for right now! Enjoy, and don't forget to REVIEW! love yall x

**APRIL**

Waiting outside in the carpool lane wouldn’t be half as bad if it weren’t a hundred degrees outside. 

When Jackson texted that he was five minutes away, I assumed it was a good time to head downstairs so he wouldn’t have to wait for me. I figured it was the polite thing to do. What _isn’t_ polite is the fact that I’ve been standing out here like an idiot for almost fifteen minutes, and the back of my shirt is now drenched with sweat. 

If it were anyone else coming to get me, I’d call and ask where they are. But it’s not that easy with Jackson. We don’t have that kind of relationship anymore; at least, I don’t think we do. He hasn’t spoken to me since before we left for college, so I don’t have any idea where we stand. 

The fact that we spent every waking minute together from first grade up until last summer, and now haven’t spoken for nine months is enough to put me on edge. We’re about to be in a car together for three hours, and I don’t know what to expect. 

I’m not sure if he’s mad at me, but I’m mad at him. I tried to reach out only to have my efforts ignored. There’s nothing worse than being brushed off by your best friend, that I know for sure. It’s hard to grieve the loss of someone who isn’t even dead. Especially when you don’t know why they iced you out in the first place. 

The last time we saw each other was on a muggy night in August. We were sitting in the open trunk of his SUV at the edge of the forest we’ve been hanging out in since forever. As kids, we’d go exploring and make up alternate universes and act out plots from our favorite books. As preteens, we went there to escape our parents. And as almost-adults, we went there for a sense of familiarity. Our whole lives were about to change, so we wanted to go somewhere that always stayed the same. 

But our dynamic shifted that evening. Sitting in his car with the cool AC behind us and the thick, damp night air in front of us, our minds were cloudy. Or maybe they were too clear. I’m still not really sure. Even though I’ve spent every waking (and sleeping) minute analyzing what happened, I still don’t have an answer. 

All I know is that I don’t regret it, and I think that he does. Why else would he ignore me for so long? 

That night, we made out. That’s the short version. The long version is that there had been sexual tension building between us for the entire summer, and I’d been doing my best to pretend it wasn’t there. We never acknowledged it. Not until we kissed. 

It just happened. Like we’d been doing it all our lives, we turned towards each other and closed our eyes and just... kissed. We fit together like we were created for each other, and since that moment, I haven’t felt quite complete. Something locked into place when he kissed me, and fell out again when we lost each other. 

In the car that night, he ended up with this shirt off and I was pantsless. I don’t know how far we would’ve gone had red and blue lights not flashed from behind, threatening to ticket us and call both of our parents if we didn’t get home. I was so embarrassed over being caught that I didn’t know how to acknowledge what had happened, but Jackson laughed the cop off. 

That’s something I loved about him, how he never took anything seriously. I don’t think that’s true anymore, though. Given the cold shoulder I received, he seems to take life pretty seriously now. 

We didn’t say goodbye that night. He dropped me off at my house and I got out of the car and hurried inside. I didn’t want the cop to call our parents and have them find my bed empty, so I climbed in my window as fast as I could and crawled under the covers while still in my clothes.

I left those clothes at home and didn’t wash them. I couldn’t take them to DePaul with me. They still smelled like him.

I stopped by his house the following night to talk over what we did and how he felt about it, but no one was home. His neighbor told me that the Averys began their trip to Nashville that morning to take Jackson to Vanderbilt. 

I’d never felt so gutted. He left to start his new chapter and left me in the dust - all without a word. 

I force the memory of that night out of my mind as his familiar SUV whips into the carpool lane. If it were nine months ago, I’d say something snarky about him being late. But since nothing is the same as it was, I raise my hand in a passive wave and roll my suitcase towards the car. 

He pops the trunk and I wait for him to come help me - my suitcase is heavy - but he doesn’t move. I roll my eyes to myself and haul my suitcase into the trunk on my own, then slam it shut with more force than what’s called for. 

As I get comfortable in the passenger’s seat, Jackson messes with the radio. He can’t seem to find a station that isn’t static. 

“Try 96.3,” I tell him. “It’s a Chicago station.” 

Without any verbal acknowledgement, he shifts the dial to B96 and something by Billie Eilish plays over the speakers. Once he’s satisfied, he shifts the car into drive and we head away from my old dorm, Sanctuary Hall. 

We ride in silence for a while. A long time, actually. We make it onto the highway without a single sound uttered from either of us. It’s long past weird. It’s stupid. 

Before I can do anything about it, Jackson speaks first. He reaches behind the driver’s seat, grabs a shoebox, and deposits it onto my lap. On the cover, in his blocky handwriting, is his nickname for me - **BIRDY**. 

“Okay?” I say, eyebrows raised. “What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“It’s full of your stuff,” he says, eyes cemented on the road. “Accidentally had it packed for Vanderbilt. Never got around to mailing it.” 

I huff and lift the lid to see what’s inside. There’s a lanyard from high school, a pair of pink ankle socks, a couple worn-out scrunchies, and a dilapidated copy of _A Grief Observed_ by C.S. Lewis - which we read in AP Literature during senior year. 

“I don’t need any of this,” I say, replacing the lid. “I don’t want it.”

“Well, it’s yours.” 

“You should’ve just thrown it away,” I say. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted it or not.” 

“I don’t,” I say. “All of this stuff is useless. Why did you even keep it?” 

“Just throw it in the back, then,” he says, still not looking at me. “You don’t have to get mad. I was trying to be nice.” 

“Sure, Jackson,” I say, crossing my legs toward the door. I cross my arms, too, and stew in silence for a minute before opening up again. “Actually, you know what? I would like to know why you pretended I didn’t exist for this entire year. I thought we were friends.” 

“We are friends,” he says. 

“Doesn’t seem like it,” I argue. “I called you and texted you. I freaking blew up your phone until Halloween, when my roommates told me to leave you alone, ‘cause that’s clearly what you wanted.” 

“Nah, it wasn’t like that.” 

I pinch my lips, growing more furious with everything he says. “Then what _was_ it like?” 

“I was busy,” he says. “Trying to keep my spot in the honors program along with playing ball. Didn’t have much time for anything else.” 

“There’s always time, Jackson. It’s a freaking text. I wasn’t asking you to write me letters with parchment and ink. Come on.” 

He shrugs one shoulder. “It just wasn’t like that,” he says. “It was nothing against you personally. I barely even called my mom, and you’re mad that I didn’t answer a text?” 

“You’re really pissing me off,” I mutter. “It wasn’t _one_ text. It was a thousand. And a thousand calls. And I’m not just anybody, Jackson. I’m your best friend. Or at least, I thought I was.” 

“Nothing changed between us, man.” 

“Don’t ‘man’ me,” I say. “Stop being like this.” 

He smiles incredulously and flexes his hands on the wheel. “I’m not being like anything. I’m just driving. You’re the one tripping.” 

“Are we not gonna talk about it, then? About what we did?” I ask, finally getting to the point. 

“Huh?”

“Huh?” I mimic, then try and reel myself in. Me and Jackson don’t fight. At least, we never have before. I’m not sure if what’s happening right now counts as a fight, but whatever it is, I can’t stand it. 

He laughs and says, “Wow.” 

“We almost had sex that night,” I say, face heating up as I say the words. 

It’s the first time I’ve ever said it to him - the person in question. I went over it a billion times with my roommates, but they were removed from the situation. It’s nerve-wracking to say it to the one person who was actually involved. 

“Yeah. We didn’t, though,” he says, drumming his thumbs on the wheel. 

“That’s not the point,” I say, growing exasperated. “You were my first kiss. And we were making out… we crossed a line, then just never talked about it. Never talked at _all_. Why?” 

He shrugs again. “Like I said, I got my ass kicked at school. It was hard as fuck.” 

I stare at him for a while, waiting for him to break. When he doesn’t, I say, “Whatever, Jackson,” and shake my head. 

“What?” he says. 

“Just whatever,” I respond, turning away and leaning my head on the headrest. 

I’m not getting through to him; that much is obvious. I’m not going to keep trying when communication isn’t what he wants. It’s no use. I guess we’re never going to get back to how we used to be. I’ll have to come to terms with that sooner or later. 

When he pulls into my driveway, I get out of the car and grab my suitcase without thanking him. I just push the door shut and turn my back, blinking hard to try and erase any emotion from my face, emotion that my sisters would spot from a mile away. 

The front door opens before Jackson even backs out, and two of my three sisters appear - Kimberly and Allison. “April!” they shout, then hurry down the front walk to greet me. 

I let them wrap me up in their arms, relaxing finally after a long drive that I spent on edge. They lead me inside and instantly start talking. Kimberly is a junior in high school this year, and even though she’s younger than me, she’s a head taller and made the varsity volleyball team. Alison just started sixth grade, which means she has plenty of middle school gossip. 

“April’s home!” Allison shouts once we get inside, alerting Mom and Dad. 

“Kitchen!” Mom shouts back. 

I leave my suitcase in the foyer and head into the kitchen with my sisters leading the way. Mom is standing at the counter making potato salad - and instantly, I’m home.

“Hi, babe,” she says, chopping radishes. “How was the ride? How was Jackson?” 

“Um… fine, I guess,” I say, giving her a weak smile while trying to meet her eyes. 

“Just fine?” she asks. “I thought you’d be happy to see him after so much time apart. We figured you’d have a lot more fun with him than with us.” 

“Not really,” I say, leaning into the side hug my dad gives me. 

He pecks the top of my head and jostles me playfully. “What’s got you in a knot, buttercup?” he asks. 

I shrug, trying to keep my expression light. “Long drive,” I say. “I’m just tired.”

“Go unpack, take a shower, lay down for a little bit,” Mom says. “Dinner’s not for a few hours. Your dad’s grilling.” 

“Again?!” Allison whines. 

“Yes, again,” Dad says, elbowing his youngest. “April’s home. We’re celebrating.” 

“It doesn’t count as a celebration if you grill every night,” Kimberly grumbles. 

I manage a soft laugh. “Well, it sounds good to me,” I say.

After assuring them that I’ll be back downstairs later, I head upstairs to take a shower like my mom suggested. I’ve only just gotten my hair wet when the door comes open and I Kimberly says, “Can I sit in here?” 

I blink the water out of my eyes and peek out of the curtain. It’s not unusual for a sister or two to be in the bathroom while another showers, but I had expected at least a few minutes alone. Out of all my sisters - Elisabeth, Kimberly, and Allison - me and Kimberly are the closest. So, I don’t really mind. 

“Sure, KK,” I say, and close the curtain again. 

She’s quiet for a few minutes, flipping through the songs playing on my phone until she finds one she’s happy with. Something by SZA, of course. 

“Are you actually tired, or is something wrong?” she asks.

I widen my eyes where she can’t see. This is what I wanted to avoid. “I’m fine,” I say, squirting shampoo into my palm. 

“You don’t _seem_ fine,” she says. “When Mom mentioned Jackson, you looked like you were gonna cry.” 

I close my eyes as I lather up my hair. “It’s nothing,” I say. 

“Just tell me. I won’t say anything.” 

It doesn’t take much for her to get information out of me. I break too easily. “Things are just weird between me and him right now,” I murmur, not owning the words entirely. 

“Weird, like how?”

“Like, I don’t know,” I say. “We didn’t talk for the entire school year. And he was just pretending like nothing happened.” 

“ _Did_ something happen?” 

“We kissed in August. But it’s not like we-” 

“Did you guys have sex?! When? How come you didn’t tell me?” 

“Oh, my god,” I say, pulling the curtain back to look at her. “Stop. This is why I didn’t say anything. We didn’t have _sex_. It was just a kiss.” 

It wasn’t, but I’m not ready to talk about that. 

“That’s all I really wanna say about it right now,” I say, stepping back under the water. 

“So, he’s not your best friend anymore?” 

“KK, I honestly don’t know,” I say. “If I knew, I wouldn’t feel so shitty.” 

“Yeah,” she says glumly. “Well, that sucks. ‘Cause he’s basically like a brother to me. And you, too.” 

“No,” I say quickly, images from that night flashing through my mind. “He’s not like a brother to me at all.” 

…

Not long after we grill out on the patio, I feign being tired and head up to my room without the company of either sister. I’m alone for the first time all day; it was something I thought I needed, but once I’m blanketed in the darkness of my room, I feel way too isolated for my liking. 

It’s not my family that I want to be around, but I refuse to admit who the person is that’s taken over my thoughts. He doesn’t deserve my energy; he made it clear that he doesn’t spend much on me. 

I wait until the house is quiet, then slip out of my room. I put on my quietest sneakers and pull on a hoodie, then open the screen to head out to our dock. We live on Lake Michigan, and I’ve never been more grateful to have the channel in our backyard. Being so close to the water is calming, and I need it on a night like tonight. 

I make my way to the end of the dock and sit with my legs crossed, staring at the sky reflected in the dark water. I get lost in the thoughts that wanted to surface in the shower, and before long, I start to cry. I lean forward and bury my face in my hands, trying not to make too much noise in the still silence. 

“Hey, Red. You good?” 

The voice over my shoulder makes me jump and press a hand to my hammering heart. I swivel at the waist to see my neighbor standing there, hands in his pockets, looking concerned. 

“God, Mark,” I say, sighing with relief. “You scared me to death. Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” he says. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

He sits down beside me and leans against the pontoon boat. “I could ask you the same question,” he says. “You were crying, though, and I was getting high. So, one of us has a story.” I pause for a long time, not responding, so he follows up with: “It’s not me.” 

I sigh, chewing the inside of my lip as I turn back to the water. “Could you seriously hear me?” I ask. 

“I thought there was a heartbroken fish swimming around,” he says. “Blubbering and shit.” 

I roll my eyes and manage a quiet laugh. “Stop,” I say. 

“You wanna talk?” he asks. “I heard the car ride with my boy didn’t go so well.” 

I furrow my eyebrows and look to Mark with alarm. “How do you know about that?” I demand. 

“Dude’s my best friend,” he says. “Just ‘cause he went off to some fancy college and I got stuck at Western doesn’t change that. It wasn’t me and him who almost screwed in his car. I shudder at the thought.” 

My mouth drops open. “Wait… you…?” 

“I know about it, yeah,” he says. “I wasn’t gonna say anything at first. But I’m getting some heartbroken fish vibes, and I just wanna help.” 

I plunk my chin down on my closed fists and stare at the small ripples in the water. “Well,” I say. “If I’m heartbroken, Jackson is heart _less_ . He’s pretending nothing happened. And it doesn’t seem like he wants to go back to normal, either. He didn’t contact me for the entire school year, and in the car, he acted like _I_ was the one who did something wrong. I didn’t do anything!” 

“He knows,” Mark says. “And he knows he was an asshole, too. He’s emotionally stunted. What can I say? It’s a character flaw.” He pauses to chuckle at himself before continuing. “He doesn’t want things to go back to normal, though. You got that part right.” 

“Then what _does_ he want?” I ask. “Me and him have been close since we were little. The thought of him not being in my life is horrible.” 

“That’s the last thing he wants,” Mark says. “To lose you, I mean. He’s just a dumbass.”

“I don’t get it.” 

He sighs. “Look, I don’t think that I’m the right person to give you the whole story. You and I both know who that person is. But…” He clasps his hands together and looks at me seriously. “Avery has feelings for you. Big ones. And he has no idea what to do with them. Hasn’t known since August. That’s what I can tell you.” 

“Wait, what?” I sputter. “He-” 

“That’s what I can tell you,” Mark repeats, palms up. “The rest has to come from the source.”

…

If we didn’t live in such a small town, I might be worried about walking through the streets at night wearing only my pajamas. But Jackson only lives a few streets away, and I’ve been making this trip long before I was old enough to do it alone - my parents don’t know about that, though. 

The route comes as second nature. I don’t even need to think about it, my feet just take me there. To the third house on the right, around to the back, up the trellis and to the little landing outside his window. I tap one, two, three times, and know he knows it’s me. That’s our code. 

Yet he doesn’t come to the window. 

I didn’t walk all this way for nothing, wearing only shorts and a zip-up. I’m not leaving without talking to him, even if that means waking him up. I’ve done it plenty of times before. 

So, I tap again. One, two, three times. 

“Jackson, open up. I know you’re in there.” 

Listening closely, I hear his bed creak and the comforter rustle. 

“I know you’re awake, too,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well let me in.” 

Next comes the familiar footsteps on his wooden floor, then the window slides up. “What are you doing?” he hisses. He has dots of face cream on his cheeks and forehead, covering zits to heal them. I wish I didn’t find it so stupidly endearing, but I do. 

“I came to talk,” I say. “Can I come in?” 

“It’s the middle of the night,” he says. 

“Has that ever stopped us before?” I say, then gesture towards his room. “Move, please.” 

Begrudgingly, he stands to the side so I can climb into his window. I dust myself off once my feet hit the carpet, and leave my sneakers by the sill. 

“Why are you here, Birdy?” he asks. 

That makes me smile inside. I can’t remember the last time he called me by my actual name. It’s always some variation of ‘Birdy,’ the nickname he gave me in third grade because it was the only thing I knew how to draw. For some reason, it stuck.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, crossing my arms. 

He shoots me an annoyed, expectant look. “So…talk,” he says. 

I don’t feel comfortable enough to sit, so I stay on my feet. “I was just with Mark,” I say. 

Jackson’s face changes instantly. He pales, and his eyes go wide and worried. “Wait, why?” 

“I was sitting out on the dock and he heard me crying, so he stopped over,” I say. “We had a chance to catch up a little.”

“You were crying?” 

“Yeah,” I say seriously. 

“Why?” 

“Because of you!” I say, extending my arms to either side of my body with my fingers spread out. “Oh, my god, Jackson. I know you’re not this dumb.”

“Why were you crying over me?” 

I look at him steadily, willing myself not to break - get mad, or cry, or something else stupid. “Mark told me,” I say, trying to insinuate what I mean without saying it. Then, I realize, by doing that, I’m just as bad at communicating as Jackson is. So, I finish the sentence. “About your feelings. Your feelings for me.”

Jackson scrubs his face with one hand and mutters, “Fuck…” 

But I don’t let him get far. “I feel the same way,” I say. “I… I have a crush on you. Too. I mean… yeah. I also have a crush on you.” 

He moves his hand and looks at me. “You do?” he asks. 

“I think so,” I say. “I haven’t stopped thinking about what happened in August. I just don’t know why you ignored me for so long. That’s now how I act towards somebody when I like them.” 

His face is more vulnerable now, much more open. This is the way I’m used to seeing him. He sits down on his bed, knees spread and elbows resting on them. He’s in a pair of sweatpants that I’ve seen him wear a million times - gray ones with ratty hems - but I notice the way they fall on his body for the first time. 

I don’t let myself think about it, though. I can’t let my mind wander. We’re here to solve whatever’s going on between us. 

“I like you,” he says softly. “A lot. And it’s weird to me… ‘cause we were always just, like, buddies, you know?” I nod. “But then, like… you got boobs, and-” He flops backwards and bounces once. “Sorry. Shit. I mean, it’s not about your body. I mean, your body’s hot. You’re hot. But that’s not where my crush came from… at least, not after the beginning.” 

I’m blushing, but he can’t see it. One, because it’s dark in the room and two, because he’s staring at the ceiling while lying on his back. I’m still standing near the window, too apprehensive to get any closer. 

“You still haven’t told me why you ghosted me,” I say. “After it happened, I…” I clear my throat and gather the courage to speak my truth. “I wanted it to _keep_ happening. Like, I wanted us to be a thing. Long distance, or whatever we could do. Nashville and Chicago aren’t that far apart. I wanted us to at least talk, but that was out of the question. Why did you do that? It hurt me really bad, Jackson.” 

“I know,” he sighs. “I was freaked out. We went out that night thinking we were just gonna drive around, and then we almost fucked. I didn’t see it coming. I thought me and you were ruined forever.” 

“So you sabotaged us before it could happen naturally? Is that what happened?” 

“Kind of, I guess,” he says. “I didn’t plan on ignoring you forever. I just needed space. I was about to call you around Halloween, but then I saw those pictures of you and your boyfriend. So, I figured you weren’t interested anymore.” 

I scrunch up my eyebrows. “Wait,” I say, confused. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“You were posing with some guy dressed as Peter Pan, and you were Tinkerbell,” he grumbles. “That’s a costume for couples. He was kissing your cheek.” 

I think back to Halloween, racking my brain as to who I spent it with. Then, I remember. I spent it with the theater club. 

“Jackson…” I say. “That was Matthew. Matthew, who is really, really gay.” 

He sits up and looks at me with a bewildered expression. “Wait,” he says.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I mean… he was wearing skin-tight, bright green leggings. Was that not a clue?”

He laughs, collapsing onto his back again. “Shit,” he says. “Fuck my life.” 

“So, you were mad at me because of those pictures?” I ask. 

“Not mad,” he says. “I guess… hurt, I guess. And mad at myself for not acting sooner, not speaking up and admitting my feelings. I assumed you’d just moved on, and I lost my chance. And it fuckin’ pissed me off. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna lose you.” He pauses for a moment before saying, “I still don’t.” 

I walk across the carpet in my socks and sit on the edge of his bed. He looks at me, chin to chest, and shakes his head. 

“I’m stupid,” he says. 

“You’re not stupid at all,” I say. “But you do jump to conclusions a lot. You could’ve just called me, you know. Or answered one of my million texts.” 

“I know,” he says, throwing his arms above his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t. So much time passed, then I felt like I couldn’t. I figured you hated me, so I didn’t wanna stir the pot.” 

“I could never hate you,” I say softly. 

“Nah, that’s true,” he says. “We’ve been in this for too long.” 

I give him a small smile, then lay on my side next to him. He turns onto his side, too, and grins back at me. 

“Hi,” I say. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” he tells me, and I close my eyes to savor the words. “I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t okay; it was immature, and just… stupid. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.” 

He holds one hand up and I smile again, this time bigger. This is something we’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, placing our palms against each other as a simple, dumb, secret handshake. I line up my fingers with his and feel the warmth of his hand, then he does something that the handshake has never entailed before. He entwines his fingers with mine and holds on tight, then brings my hand up to his lips for a kiss. 

“So… about that crush…” he says, eyes shining. “You got one on me, too, then?” 

I play with his fingers as our hands rest between us. “Yeah…” I say. “Is that okay with you?” 

“That’s great with me,” he says, unable to stop grinning. “You wanna be my girlfriend, or what?” 

“Wow, you’re so romantic,” I say, playfully rolling my eyes. 

“Come on, pretty Bird,” he says, swinging one leg over both of mine so he can hover over me. 

I look up at his gleeful face and can’t help but smile - it’s contagious. My chest hasn’t felt this light in ages; I can’t believe we’re in this position. Me and Jackson, who have been best friends for our whole lives… falling in love. 

“Say yes,” he says, touching the tip of my nose with his own. 

“Uh…” I say, tapping my chin for effect. “Huh. Let me think about it. Maybe I should ignore you for nine months, then hit you back.” 

“Ouch…” he says, pretending to shoulder the blow. “That stung. You wound me. You wound me _deep_.” 

He smirks and presses his face into my neck, dropping light kisses that make my skin tingle and heat up. He lowers his body onto mine and keeps his head where it is, so I bring my hands around and drag my fingernails over his shoulder blades. Laying with him like this feels so good. It feels right. 

“So…?” he says, voice muffled by my hair. 

“Um…” I say, dragging it out for just a little longer. 

I wrap my arms around him and squeeze as tight as I can, then place my lips right next to his ear to whisper what I say next. 

“Yes.” 


End file.
